


Auxin

by Dryad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Family, M/M, Parentlock, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27679801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: Simply take a cutting from a plant and use rooting hormones produces a new plant nearly identical to the parent plant. It's a reliable and inexpensive way to propagate your favorites, and the absolute best way to grow new and difficult to propagate plants. When used correctly, the cutting develops stronger roots and is more robust.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2020





	Auxin

The new girl shot John a look under her brows and he made a mental note to bring it up at the next staff meeting. His private life was exactly that; private. Anyone who felt he was doing the wrong thing by his daughter could like it or lump it, end of. 

The rest of the day went smoothly enough, the usual assortment of aches and pains, blood draws and joint manipulations, referrals and test results. Lunch was tuna mayonnaise on lettuce, sweet corn sprinkled on top, and a roll that was probably old when it had been placed in the plastic wrap. 

By leaving time he was glad to head home for no reason in particular. He wasn't quite sure what was going on inside himself...work was no longer as satisfying as it had once been. He felt most comfortable at home...just...noodling about. Even Sherlock seemed to be spending a lot of time in the flat, doing nothing. Which usually did not bode well for the state of the place, and yet.

John pressed the button and stood up, hard stepping as the bus driver turned a little more sharply than usual. Wasn't worth it just to make the light before it turned red, in John's opinion. Maybe everyone wanted to get home to a hot dinner; winter was just a miserable time to be in London. The sky was black by 4pm, the damp ate in to your bones, the rain came in at a howling slant that not even umbrellas could protect against. 

He joined the crowd headed to Sainsburys-that-used-to-be-Tesco, already irritated at having to brave the store when it was heaving with people shopping for the holiday. He didn't want holiday food, he only needed to figure out what he was making tonight. What he really disliked was having to find out where all the things were. New store, new layout, it was all very annoying.

Nonetheless, he made it out with the ingredients in his backpack; Chicken legs, a leek, two potatoes and a carrot, a container of double cream, a packet of butter and another of bacon because he was pretty sure they were out of both, a loaf of crusty bread, a bag of salted black licorice and a bottle of wine. A good bowl of creamy chicken soup, that's what he wanted. 

England being England, it started to pour when he was halfway home.

He prepared himself for an onslaught of questions and comments regarding his foolishness for not taking a taxi from the clinic, yet to his surprise no one was home, not even Mrs. Hudson. He had to laugh at himself for being disappointed, because that was ridiculous.

Mood vastly improved, he fired up the stereo and put on his modern lounge playlist. Sherlock hated it, but he wasn't here now, was he? Satisfied with the atmosphere, John began to cook.

S'Tone Inc's 60s airport lounge track _Rendez-Vous a Minuit_ had just finished when Sherlock entered the flat, shedding scarf and greatcoat and shoes in one giant shimmy, like a giant puppy shaking off rainwater. "Chicken stew!" he pronounced, sweeping into the kitchen surrounded by damp,chill air. 

John took one look at him and shook his head. "I don't know how you deduce these things."

"It's raining, you always make soup when it's raining. Did you get wine?"

"Of course."

"Excellent. I'm going to bathe and then you'll have dinner ready. With wine."

"Yes, well, you do that," John replied, because Sherlock was also a creature of habit when it rained. 

While Sherlock was in the bathroom, John took a chance and let HIRD's _Keep You Kimi_ play. Her effortless cool voice perfect for the moment. He mashed a clove of garlic with half the butter and some dried parsley, slathered it on the bread he'd sliced earlier, wrapped it all in foil and popped it in the oven to bake. The salad took only a few minutes, done as soon as he'd added a bit of chopped apple and set his homemade olive oil and pomegranate molasses dressing on the table. Soon enough a wave of moist air entered the kitchen, quickly followed by the moistee. 

"I'm starved," announced Sherlock, tying his bathrobe tightly around his waist. He smelled extra delicious, some new soap slash shampoo slash conditioner combination that he'd made himself. Or so he told John, but John wasn't so sure. Despite everything they'd gone through, there were times when Sherlock exaggerated things just because.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

John tasted the soup, added another pinch of pepper. "Hmm?"

"Mycroft."

John shook his head and put the frozen peas into the pot. "Nothing."

Behind him, there was a silence, and then -

"Why?"

"Because it's not necessary," said John, turning around and leaning against the counter. He folded his arms, staring at Sherlock, who looked back at him with a faint crease between his brows. "It's fine."

"John, I don't understand," Sherlock finally said. He began playing with the salt shaker on the table, rolling it on its edge in increasingly wide circles until it fell over, a little fall of salt spilling on to the red and white checked oilcloth.

"I know you don't," said John, taking pity on his flatmate. He pulled the nearest chair out and sat down. "I don't know how to explain it myself."

"Try."

What to say…

And then, after a few seconds which must have seemed like an age to Sherlock: "She's your child, John."

"Yes. And she's safer with Mycroft," John said gently.

Sherlock frowned. "But we're here..."

"We are. And so are 'they'," he said, using air quotes to emphasize. "The long and the short of it is that she loves him, and he loves her, and I can't trust us to keep her safe."

"What? Why not?"

The funny thing was that Sherlock had been in the room when John had made his decision. Mycroft had come over to collect Rosie for the bank holiday weekend and she had screamed with delight as soon as he appeared at the top of the stairs.

The moment had been an epiphany for John; Mycroft. 

Of course. A man who couldn't show his brother love in any form other than control would be perfect for a child who could show nothing but love. 

"Daddy!" shrieked Rosie, hanging upside down, arms windmilling.

John glanced up from the Sunday paper, huffed a laugh. 

Mycroft grimaced, not quite looking in John's direction as he uprighted Rosie until she was clinging to his shoulders the right way round, giggling. "Rosamund, we've discussed this before. You mustn't call me 'Daddy' when your father is right in the room."

From the kitchen, a cup clattered onto a saucer, followed by the not-quite-a-slam of a cupboard being closed.

"I'm not your father," corrected Mycroft, concentrating very hard on the little girl in his arms. "I'm your Uncle Mycroft."

John had blinked as everything coalesced into understanding.

"The garlic bread is ready," groused Sherlock. 

It certainly was. They ate in silence, John still searching for a way to explain while Sherlock devoured his food. 

"There's still cake, if you want something sweet," said John, watching Sherlock stab the last chunk of apple on his plate. 

"John."

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking."

Sherlock pursed his lips and sat back, folding his arms in the most petulant of ways. "Think harder. Faster, better."

John rolled his eyes, nodding. "I'm doing the best I can, but it's hard to put into words."

"Start from the beginning," suggested Sherlock, which was an opening John couldn't ignore.

"Well, when two people love each other very much - " He broke off, laughing at the expression of outrage on Sherlock's face. "Okay, okay, so, um."

John took a deep breath and tried to organize his thoughts. "Look, I never expected to be a parent. I mean, I never gave it much thought. When I was younger I thought I'd be like everyone else - "

"Pfft - "

"Okay, you might not realize this, but for the majority of people, we just kind of go along with things when we're kids. Most of us don't have a clear path into adulthood. There are things we like to do, but make it an actual career? Not so much."

"My cousin Lily always wanted to be a mother and now she has seven children," mused Sherlock. "And Cynthia had her heart set on being a research librarian. Even Apollinaire was a poet by the age of three."

"Well of course _your_ family probably knew what they wanted in the womb."

Sherlock conceded the point with the briefest of raised eyebrows.

"Anyway...my home life wasn't the best. Wasn't the worst, but wasn't the best, either."

" _'Your mum and dad, they fuck you up'_ " quoted Sherlock.

"Exactly," said John, pointing at Sherlock. "My point is that becoming a parent was never my top priority. If it happened, it happened. I...just made sure the happening part didn't, if you know what I mean."

"And being medically inclined didn't hurt, I assume."

"Precisely. Had a couple of minor quibbles along the way, because life is life and things happen."

Sherlock nodded and abruptly got to his feet. "Wine or whisky?"

"Uh, we have wine left?"

"I've a white I've been saving," said Sherlock, rummaging around in the back of the cabinet under the sink. "Brown Brothers, 2002. Like summer in a glass."

"Kept under the sink because...?"

"Because."

"Ah, of course," murmured John. Good a place as any, he supposed. 

"Mary wanted a baby," said Sherlock, handing John the glass of wine as he sat down.

John took a sip; the wine was delightfully cool, sweet and floral and Sherlock was right, like summer in a glass. "Ta. I wanted one too. I wanted one with her, to be precise."

"Mm."

"It's different when it's with someone you really love," said John, the familiar mix of anger and grief and regret and shame roiling in his belly. There was nothing he could do about the past, he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. It was just - Rosie. Rosie was an ever present memento of Mary - a _Memento Mary_ , as it were. Which was terrible, Jesus. Even for him, humor so black it sucked all the light out of which was why he should never try to play with words like that again, good lord.

"And you love Rose - "

"Of course I do!" he said fiercely. "I wouldn't trade her for anything in the world!" 

_Not even you_ , and even though he only said it in his mind, from Sherlock's wan smile, he knew the man understood. Maybe even agreed. John didn't know what else to say. He knew how he felt, yet the words didn't come to him. "Come on, tell me about your day."

Sherlock pouted, then took his glass and moved to the sofa where, much to John's shock, he turned on the tv. Tossing the remote onto John's new chair, he motioned impatiently towards the tv. "Go on, pick on of your shows, Jerry Kyle or something."

Okay. John brought his own glass over, mulling Sherlock's change in attitude. What they needed was something to pique Sherlock's interest enough for him to complain as well as drop some knowledge. A documentary or science program, ah, lost civilizations of Africa. 

Forty-five minutes later and John found he couldn't take the silence any more. "It's just that Mycroft can take care of her, Sherlock, if anything were to happen. His house is safe and secure and he'd die before he'd let anything happen to her."

"But it's Mycroft! Mrs Hudson is far more suitable - "

"And she's 74 years old!" John sprang to his feet, unable to contain himself. He took paced to and fro, three steps one way, three steps the other way. 

Sherlock was utterly affronted, staring at John with equal parts surprise and distaste.

"Look," said John, pausing to gather his wits. "I cherish Mrs. Hudson, I do. She is not, however, capable of running after a lively and mischievious four year old! And while I'll grant she has surprising skills - "

Sherlock snorted. "You don't say - "

"If something were to happen and she couldn't protect Rosie? It would be the end of her, and I can't let that happen."

"But Mycroft?"

John closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to ease the oncoming headache. He began again, trying to be patient. "After the Ayer Affair I couldn't risk having her here all the time. And after Paul Butters broke in and Hanna Taylor and Boris Kiss and, and just all of them! What I'm saying is that I can't risk her."

"So living with _him_ is better."

John opened his mouth for a vehement 'yes', thought better of it, sat down again. "He adores her, Sherlock."

Sherlock made a moue of disgust.

"The thing that no one teaches you about parenting," continued John, realizing the truth of what he said as he spoke. "Is that there comes a time when you realize you have to do whatever you have to do to protect your child, even if it cuts you to the bone."

The almost bare truth of the matter. There were other things he could say, painful things, hurtful things. Sherlock would figure those out on his own over time. Hopefully.

The program ended, the obnoxiously cheery ending theme tune annoying him so much he turned the tv completely off. 

The sudden quiet was not an improvement. Even so, John was startled when Sherlock abruptly face him, elbows on knees, steepled fingers in front of his mouth as he narrowly eyed John.

"Let's get married."

"Ah - "

"If we're married we can give Rosie the stability she needs. You can of course continue at the clinic and I'll only take the easy jobs."

"Thanks for allowing me to be a doctor - "

"I'm serious."

"No, no, I know you are, it's just…it's a hell of an offer," said John. He gulped down the remaining wine in his glass, didn't even wince at the burn it left. "I appreciate it. You'll have to give me some time to think it over."

Sherlock flipped one hand in the air. "Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll clean up."

 _Married?? Jesus Christ!_ John remained seated, clutching the arms of his new chair. 

Obviously the idea was ridiculous, he wasn't getting married to anyone ever again, once was enough, thank you very much. And to Sherlock Holmes! Ha!

On the other hand…Rosie would be legally protected from any of Mary's relatives, should any show up. But it would be a marriage in name only, and that wouldn't be fair to Sherlock or himself. Not that he knew if Sherlock dabbled in relationships. Or sex, for that matter. His own preferences were well known, and he didn't see that changing after signing papers at the registry office. God, was he really considering this?? "Stop staring at me."

"I'm not staring at you."

John sighed. "Sherlock, you're standing right behind the chair, I can see your reflection in the window."

There was a muttered expletive and Sherlock strode past him to close the curtains. "And?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"Yes, but you're taking too long."

"Now, see, this is why we shouldn't get married - "

Sherlock spun around, grinning. "You're considering it! Excellent! I propose a kiss." 

As Sherlock swiftly approached, John held up his hand. "Wait a minute, wait a minute!"

Sherlock shook his head. "If I wait any longer you'll think about it too much and end up moving out or re-enlisting or doing something equally stupid."

A part of John honestly thought Sherlock was joking, a part which had nothing to say when the other man cupped John's face in his very warm hands and kissed him quickly, if thoroughly, on the lips.

Pulling back, Sherlock beamed at John. "See? Everything will be fine. What kind of cake?"

"Lemon," John said faintly.

"Fantastic! I'll leave you a slice."

"Okay, yeah. Sure."

"We'll have to think about venues and color schemes," Sherlock's voice dulled as he spoke into the open refrigerator. "Mrs. Hudson will help! And don't worry about the sex, I can assure you I'm very good at it."

Right. 

Well.

Oh god.

**Author's Note:**

> OpalJade, I hope this ticks the boxes for you!
> 
> Parenting is the hardest job you'll (hopefully) ever love.
> 
> People like to think that having a baby = instant love for that baby, but we all know that's not true. Speaking personally for a moment, when my child was born I didn't feel love, but a deep, animal-like possession. It made me wonder what kind of love John might have for Rosie, whose very being was complicated by death. I'm not sure I was able to express what I feel, but maybe?
> 
> Songs:  
> [Rendez-Vous a' Minuit](https://youtu.be/oOStFmzJT0Y) \- S-Tone Inc.  
> [Keep You Kimi](https://youtu.be/RtEptsBY-ls) \- HIRD, ft. Yukimi Nagano (Little Dragon)  
> Bonus:  
> [Constant Surprises](https://youtu.be/21uKrZ74_Nk) \- Little Dragon (because I love this song and Yukimi's cool and it fits, too)
> 
> Rooting Hormone info cribbed from [Wisconsin Pollinators](https://wisconsinpollinators.com/Gardening/TipsRootingHormone.aspx).


End file.
